


You Are You, None Other

by morning_softness



Series: Your Presence and Your Favors [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Image, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Relationship Discussions, Self-Worth Issues, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_softness/pseuds/morning_softness
Summary: Martin wakes up every morning without a physical form and has to shape his body all over again. Sometimes he wonders if it’s worth it. Jon gives him some reasons to try.cw: negative body image, self-deprecating thoughts, references to Jane Prentiss and Peter Lukas
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Your Presence and Your Favors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074047
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79





	1. I go through all this before you wake up

**Author's Note:**

> “Yet here I am, having told you of my quarrel with the taxi-driver over a line of Milton, and you laugh; and **you are you, none other**.  
> Your laughter pelts my skin with small delicious blows.  
> But I am perverse: I wish you had not scrubbed—with pumice, I suppose—  
> The tobacco stains from your beautiful fingers.”  
> From the poem ‘Rendezvous’ by Edna St. Vincent Millay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin wakes up every morning without a physical form and has to shape his body all over again. Sometimes he wonders if it’s worth it.  
> cw: negative body image, self-deprecating thoughts, references to Jane Prentiss and Peter Lukas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from ‘Hyperballad’ by Bjork, because I listened to it and ‘Play Dead’ more times while working on this chapter than is probably strictly good for my mental health.

Martin opens his eyes to see the early morning sunlight shining palely through the white mist that fills the safe house bedroom and knows at once that he is dreaming. It’s the same dream he’s had every morning in the safe house, every morning since he followed Jon out of the Lonely, and he knows what comes next. Martin huffs a small sigh as he leaves the bed and drifts over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. He can’t see his reflection, only a thick white patch of fog. Or rather, that _is_ his reflection. Martin’s used to this by now; he knows how this dream goes, what he has to do. He has to make himself again, shape himself back out of the mass of fog into a person—into Martin. The dream won’t end until he gets it right.

Martin’s never been much for dream interpretation, but he supposes it’s not surprising, really, that he would dream something like this. He’s never really been comfortable in his body or with himself. As far back as Martin remembers, he’s been trying to be more, or be less, or be different in ways both physical and not. He’s always been looking for what people want from him, what they expect of him, and then molding himself to fit as best he could. He’d felt, sometimes, that if he could be free of all the pressure from others, if he wasn’t putting forth constant effort to fit the shape they demanded, that he would simply devolve into a formless mass like gelatin poured out of the mold before it had set. His time with Peter Lukas had just reinforced that idea, really. The more he became involved with the Lonely and distanced himself from those around him, the more disconnected he’d become from his own body, dissolving into the fog around him. So, yes, it makes sense that he would dream about this.

As far as nightmares go, it isn’t that bad. It’s calm and quiet, almost gentle, leagues better than the nightmares of worms wriggling through flesh that had plagued him after Prentiss. If anything, it’s a bit annoying. As if it wasn’t enough to choose to leave the Lonely once, Martin has to keep choosing again every single day. It’s exhausting.

Sometimes Martin wonders if there’s any point, if it’s even worth it, playing through the tedious process of the dream, trying to remember his exact height, the breadth of his shoulders, the shape of his face, the precise shade of his hair, the number and positions of all his freckles, stretch marks, and scars. Having to do it every day hasn’t made it any easier, it’s only made him more irritated with the drudgery of existing. As he grudgingly begins the task, Martin wonders what would happen if he didn’t. Maybe he could just do nothing and wait out the dream. Every nightmare ends eventually, after all.

Even if this was real, would it really matter that much if Martin stayed a sentient fog, just the barest suggestion of a person? It would certainly be easier and more comfortable. He can hear Peter’s voice saying, ‘Haven’t you enjoyed it, these last few months? Drifting through the Archives unseen, unjudged,’ and he had been right about that much, he’d just misjudged how far Martin would be willing to go. Even then maybe he hadn’t been so far off. Looking back to that confrontation Martin could almost laugh at the naivety of his own words: ‘I’m saying ‘no.’ I refuse, game over. If this is the final test or something, then bad luck, the answer’s still no.’ One final test and he was done with the Lonely? When had anything in his life come down to a single momentous decision with permanent results? It was always about the small decisions, the tiny choices made again and again until he was finally worn down and exhausted enough to give in. Maybe Jane Prentiss had known that, when she waited outside his flat steadily knocking and knocking and knocking, making every minute of those long two weeks another choice between staying under siege or just opening the door and letting it be over.

It probably wouldn’t make much difference to anyone else either, if Martin just dissipated into the fog. He’s thought a lot about the meaning of life this past year, whether there is one in general, and whether there’s any meaning to his life in particular. Martin’s rather inclined to think there isn’t, at least not for him. It seems silly to think that there’s anything he could do, specifically, that someone else couldn’t do just as well or better if he wasn’t there to do it. It had made it easier to see through Peter’s lies about Martin’s role in stopping the Extinction. Peter had kept trying to make Martin out to be some kind of hero, the lone savior, the only person who could save the world and everyone in it, and maybe there was a kind of loneliness in that but it wasn’t Martin’s brand of the emotion. Martin was the kid who was always picked last for sports teams and group projects, if they remembered to include him at all; he was the archival assistant ‘unlikely to contribute anything but delays’; the one who got so caught up in his own terror in the tunnels he ran ahead on his own and left his friends behind him to get riddled with murderous worms. Martin knows much too well how far he is from being any kind of hero.

When Jon had gone into the Lonely for Martin, he’d said ‘we need you, I need you,’ but Martin knew he didn’t, not really. Jon needs someone in his corner, sure, but Martin won’t let himself be conceited enough to think he’s the only one who could fill that role. Even if there’s a selfish part of him that wants to believe Jon’s soft words and gentle touches are actually meant for him, and not just proof of how starved Jon’s been for any form of affection.

Martin knows he hasn’t been Jon’s first choice even once since he came into the archives. Jon had been clear about that from the start, hadn’t he? He’d requested Tim and he’d requested Sasha and Martin wasn’t either. When Martin had been trapped in his flat for two weeks, Jon hadn’t thought to come check on him even though Prentiss’s texts had led him to believe Martin was ill. When Jon was on the run, he’d gone to Melanie for help, not Martin. When they’d gone to stop the Unknowing, Martin had been the one left behind at the Institute as a distraction. Afterwards, how many times had Martin come to visit Jon when he was in a coma, to talk to him, to try to reach whatever part of him might be able to hear and convince him to wake up? Then some complete stranger had waltzed in and done it in a single conversation. So no, Jon doesn’t need Martin, not really. Still, right now Martin’s the only one available, so he’ll just have to make do.

And being there for Jon means Martin needs a body, one that Jon can see and touch and hold, one that he will recognize as clearly ‘Martin’, and not just a vague shape in the fog. So here he is, standing in front of the mirror, trying once again to decide if his face is more round or square-shaped and to remember how many freckles he has on each cheek, putting himself back together one detail at a time.


	2. If I weep it will not matter, and if you laugh I shall not care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes to find Martin gone. He convinces him to come back.
> 
> cw: negative body image, self-deprecating thoughts, references to Jane Prentiss and Peter Lukas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem ‘The Dream,’ by Edna St. Vincent Millay: 
> 
> The Dream
> 
> Love, if I weep it will not matter,  
> And if you laugh I shall not care;  
> Foolish am I to think about it,  
> But it is good to feel you there. 
> 
> Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, —  
> White and awful the moonlight reached  
> Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,  
> There was a shutter loose, — it screeched! 
> 
> Swung in the wind, — and no wind blowing! —  
> I was afraid, and turned to you,  
> Put out my hand to you for comfort, —  
> And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew, 
> 
> Under my hand the moonlight lay!  
> Love, if you laugh I shall not care,  
> But if I weep it will not matter, —  
> Ah, it is good to feel you there!

Jon opens his eyes to see the early morning sunlight shining palely into the safe house bedroom and rolls over towards Martin, only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. Jon stomach twists and his chest tightens with the certainty that something is wrong.

It’s not _unusual_ for Martin to wake before Jon, but most mornings he’s content to lounge in bed beside him, reading until Jon gets up, and if he decides to go to the kitchen for a cup of tea or outside to sit on the porch he always rouses Jon enough to let him know where he’s going. Jon listens carefully but he can’t hear any sound from the kitchen or the bathroom that would indicate Martin’s presence. Not only the bedroom but the whole house seems empty, save for the chill white fog which Jon now realizes, with a growing sense of horror, fills the bedroom.

The fog is concentrated thickest in the far corner of the room, around the full-length mirror, and Jon moves cautiously towards it, calling out Martin’s name. Is the mirror somehow connected to one of the entities? No, it isn’t, Jon Knows it isn’t, but Martin’s not here and Jon doesn’t know where he is, and Jon doesn’t Know where he is, and what if he went back to the Lonely while Jon slept right through it? What if Jon really is too late this time?

“Hello, Jon,” Martin’s voice comes softly from the fog.

“Martin?” Jon’s own voice is hoarse with sleep, his tone frantic. “Martin, where are you?”

“I’m fine, Jon,” Martin’s voice says gently. “I’m right here. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to see me like this.”  


“See you like what? I _don’t_ see you!”

There’s a huff of breath, like a sigh. “Yes, Jon, that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

“I don’t _understand_ ,” Jon cringes at the desperation in his own voice, but at least it’s a statement not a question so there’s no compulsion. He’s trying very hard to let Martin have privacy, to choose what he wants to share and how, rather than Knowing things or forcing them out of him.

“All right, so you know one of the _perks?_ of being aligned with the Lonely is that having a body is sort of _optional_? I mean, sure the Lonely can create this sort of, I don’t know, parallel reality you can move through that’s just like our world but without any other people, but if you’re aligned with the Lonely, you can do the opposite as well—you can move in the real world without anyone seeing or hearing you. Anyway, once I figured that out I started taking advantage of it a bit.”

There’s a pause, then Martin continues. “Alright, a lot. I took advantage of it a lot. At first I was just using it to check on everyone in the Archives, make sure you were all doing okay. Peter didn’t like me going down there and socializing, but if I was just ‘observing from the outside’ he was fine with it, encouraged it even. Then after a while I started using it for other things too. Maybe even more than I realized at the time. I honestly think I was doing it more often than not, by the end. It was just so much _easier_ , you know, not to have to deal with all _this_ ,” Only the bare outline of Martin’s form is visible through the fog, but it’s still enough for Jon to see him make a vague sweeping gesture that seems to indicate his entire body, where it’s slowly becoming more solid behind the veil of mist.  


The gesture makes Jon’s stomach twist.

Martin’s form shifts with the gust of another sigh. “Anyway, getting used to having a body again, it’s hard. Not just people noticing me again, or knowing that they’re looking at me and judging me, or bumping into people. I mean, all that’s hard, but it’s not new, it was hard before. It’s harder now, though. Now it feels like my body only exists as long as I focus on it, like I might just dissipate back into mist and disappear the moment I stop watching. And every morning when I wake up, I have to stand in front of the mirror and—and shape myself all over again,” Martin’s voice trembles slightly.

“You’ve been doing this every morning?” Jon asks. He doesn’t like to think of Martin waking and struggling with this on his own every morning while he slept in the bed, so close but so far away. 

“Honestly, I had been hoping it was just some sort of vivid recurring nightmare, but if you can see it too I suppose that means it must be real.”

“Yes,” Jon says heavily. “I can’t see your dreams, so I think it’s safe to say we’re both awake right now.” They’re both quiet for a moment, the fog shifting around and within the vague outline of Martin in a way that makes Jon feel queasy.

“How can I help you?” Jon asks softly. “Do you want me to try to See you, to cut through the fog?”

Martin shakes his head. “I think this is something I have to do myself,” he says, his voice firmer now, determined. “I don’t want you to recognize me because some fear god tells you to. I’m not even sure if you could See me when I’m like this, if there’s enough of me left to See. If I forget myself, if I lose myself, how could you possibly hope to find me?”

“What can I do?” Jon asks. He hates just sitting there doing nothing, feeling useless.

“Honestly, this is fine,” Martin says. “I can handle it myself, like I’ve been doing every morning. You can go ahead to the bathroom to freshen up, or to the kitchen to make a start on breakfast, or even go back to bed for a bit if you like, and in an hour or so I’ll be ready to join you.”

“I don’t want to just leave,” Jon says, “I want to help you. I love you.” He’s not prepared for Martin’s snort of disbelief.

“No you don’t,” Martin says, “not really. You just need someone to care about you, to be on your side. Maybe you even need someone to love, but that’s about you, not me. It’s never been about me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to help while I’m here, but there’s no need for you to pretend I’m anything more than a placeholder.”

It reminds Jon too much of what Peter Lukas had said back in the Lonely, that he only loved the idea of Martin he’d created in his mind, that ‘the people you love don’t exist, not really.’ Only Peter Lukas was wrong, Jon tells himself. He and Martin loved each other enough to walk out of the Lonely together. And maybe Jon hadn’t spent much time with Martin when they weren’t ‘working, or bickering, or fleeing from that latest thing that wants to kill you,’ as Peter Lukas had put it, but that didn’t mean the time they’d spent together wasn’t meaningful, and he had come to know Martin in that time. In some ways, Jon thinks the unique circumstances of their time together have let him come to know Martin better—to see more sides of him—than he could have through dating traditionally. Of course he doesn’t know everything about Martin, of course he wants to spend more time with him in better circumstances, to get to know him more, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know Martin at all. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t know Martin enough to love him.

“I’m not pretending,” Jon says. “I wouldn’t know how to pretend something like that, even if I wanted to. I really do love you.”

Martin scoffs quietly. “Fine, then tell me why. What is it you love about me?”

Jon doesn’t know how to explain that it’s Martin he loves, that he loves every part of Martin because he’s Martin. The sound of his laughter. The shape of his mouth when he smiles, lips creeping open just enough to reveal his two front teeth. The unique tread of his footsteps. The sound of his voice. The way his hair curls around his face.

All the things that had been irrationally irritating to him at first, but which had slowly become endearing over time, and which he had missed so much when he couldn’t see Martin. It’s the same way the tea Martin makes is the best, not because Martin uses any fancy kind of tea or special method, but because Martin has made it.

It had been the same way with Georgie, Jon remembers. They’d shared a few classes, and then became friends, and then somewhere in between late-night library study sessions, campus movies, discussions about ghosts, and arguments over coffee Jon had realized that Georgie was beautiful and he loved her.

Now it’s Martin who Jon thinks he could paint a portrait of with his eyes closed if only his art skills were as strong as his memory.

Martin’s voice breaks the silence between them to say bitterly, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and Jon realizes he hasn’t said any of his thoughts aloud.

“I love you because you’re patient and caring,” Jon says, saying things as he thinks of them, in no particular order, trying to get it all out quickly before he can second-guess himself or Martin can interrupt.

”I love you because you made tea for me every day even when I pretended I didn’t want it.  
I love you because you dragged me out to eat lunch and nagged me to get rest when I was too preoccupied with getting to the bottom of the mystery to think about self-care.  
I love you because you hold people accountable for their actions.  
I love you because you called me out when I was stalking everyone.  
I love you because you stood up to Elias and got him arrested.  
I love you because you intervened to stop me from seeking out victims and taking statements directly, to keep me from becoming any more of a monster than I already was.  
I love you because you’re an optimist but you’re still incredibly practical and pragmatic.  
I love you because you hid extra CO2 canisters and kept a corkscrew on hand while you slept in document storage.  
I love you because you piled tape recorders on top of the coffin to help bring me back out of the Buried.  
I love you because even when you thought you might be going to your death you left a tape on my desk to tell me what was happening and where you went.  
I love you because you’re brave and stubborn, because when you decide to do something you stick with it until it is over, even when it would be easier or safer to give up.  
I love you because you squeezed through a basement window and confronted the flesh hive in the name of ‘due diligence,’ because you dumped a handful of supernatural worms on my desk to convince me when I was trying to play the skeptic, because you called my bluff when I tried to run away, because you fooled Peter Lukas and protected everyone at the Institute as much as you could.”

As Jon speaks, he sees more and more of Martin’s body taking shape within the fog, the faint outline filling in with color and detail. The fog shifts around him, obscuring and then revealing specific body parts in sharp relief: a pyjama-clad leg, a broad blunt-fingered hand, an eye with tears gathering in the corner. As Jon continues, the fog grows thinner and sparser around Martin, obscuring less of him, and Martin’s own form seems to become more and more solid behind it. Jon’s not sure if it’s partly because of him, if his words are doing anything to help, or if this is just the natural progression of Martin’s morning ritual, but he keeps going anyway, not wanting to stop until the last of the fog is gone.

“I love you because you write poetry and record it on cassettes for the ‘lo-fi charm,’ even if you are far to enamored with Keats.  
I love you because you’re always making tea but you hate to cook.  
I love you because you cry at the sad parts in movies and the sappy bits of soap operas.  
I love you because when you smile your whole face lights up with it.  
I love you because you bite your tongue between your two front teeth when you laugh.  
I love you because you snore and sometimes you say ridiculous things in your sleep.  
I love you because you have seventeen freckles on your left cheek and nineteen on your right, which I know because one night when I couldn’t fall asleep I counted them.”

“I love you, Martin,” Jon says as he finally steps fully out of the fog. “I love everything about you.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?” Martin says. The tears are running down his face now, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice them yet. “Fine, I believe you. I love you too, Jon. I think I always have.”

“Can I hug you?” Jon asks.

”I don’t know,” Martin quips, giving him a wobbly smile through the tears, “can you?”

As it turns out, he can, but Jon holds Martin for a very long time just to make sure.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] You Are You, None Other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615896) by [fire_ash_rebirth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_ash_rebirth/pseuds/fire_ash_rebirth)




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